Daughter of Cana Page 16

  Jude tied the donkey to a post near the well and called to a man sitting on the low courtyard wall. “Shalom! We are seeking Yeshua of Nazareth.”

  The man turned, a smile gathering up the wrinkles at his aged mouth. “You have missed him. He was here.”

  “Can you tell me where he went?”

  The man’s grin widened, then he stood, jumped, and clicked his heels together. The other men, all of whom had turned when he began to speak, broke out in riotous laughter.

  I looked at Joanna and frowned. Were they drunk?

  Jude must have had the same thought. “Have you been at the ale so early?” he asked, his voice dry. “For surely you are not in your right mind.”

  “That’s the beauty of it—my mind has never been clearer.” The grinning man came closer. “I used to work with this crew”—he pointed to the men on the roof—“but one day I fell off a house and my legs stopped working. For five years I couldn’t walk, couldn’t work, couldn’t feed my family, and couldn’t worship in the Temple. But yesterday Yeshua came to town, and the crowds followed him to this house.”

  “He speaks the truth.” I turned as another voice joined the conversation. A man who’d been standing in the front doorway came toward us—chubby with a round face that disappeared into an unruly beard. “I invited Yeshua inside, and the entire town came out to hear him speak. They were sitting on the windowsills, packed into the courtyard, perched on the courtyard wall—”

  “My friends,” the grinning man interrupted, glancing up at the workers on the roof, “wanted to get me to Yeshua, but they couldn’t get me through the courtyard, so thick was the crowd. So they went around to the back of the house, lifted me up to the roof, and cut through the plaster and timbers. They rigged up a pallet and lowered me until I dangled right in front of Yeshua.”

  My mouth went dry. “And?”

  The man’s smile faded as a shade of uncertainty crept into his expression. “Yeshua looked at me and said, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’”

  Jude frowned. “He forgave your sins?”

  “That’s what the Torah scholars asked,” the man said, spreading his hands. “‘Who but God can pardon sins?’ They said Yeshua was a blasphemer.”

  “This,” Jude murmured to me, “is what worries me.”

  But the man had not finished.

  “Then Yeshua said, ‘Which is easier to say, Your sins are forgiven, or Get up, take up your mat and walk? But so you may know that the Son of Man has authority to pardon sins on earth’”—the fellow’s grin reappeared—“he told me to get up, take up my mat, and go home. So I did. Even danced a little as the crowd parted to let me through. My legs felt so strong I could have walked all the way to Jerusalem without tiring.”

  I exhaled a slow breath as Jude lowered his gaze. I knew what he was thinking: we had been telling ourselves that Yeshua’s healings were tricks, that people were only pretending to be healed. Yet this man was telling his own story, and the men around us had been witnesses to his accident, his helplessness, and his healing. How could we argue with them?

  Jude cleared his throat. “Thank you for sharing your story. When Yeshua left this place, where did he go?”

  “That is the most interesting thing.” Our storyteller tugged on his beard. “He went out to the sea, where there was more space for people to gather. But as he was passing the tax collector’s table in the town square—”

  “Levi,” one of the masons interrupted. “The man is called Levi.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Anyway, Yeshua looked at him and said, ‘Follow me.’ And the tax collector got straight up out of his chair and followed Yeshua to the water. And after he spoke a while, Yeshua accepted Levi’s invitation to dinner. Many other tax collectors joined them, with sinners of every stripe—”

  “A drunk,” one of the men on the ladder supplied.

  “A man who married his brother’s daughter,” another man added.

  “A blasphemer,” another called. “And a cheat.”

  The healed man laughed. “I thought maybe Yeshua had a secret whistle that called sinners as a mother hen calls her chicks. They all went into Levi’s house, where they ate and drank together. All the righteous people—especially the Torah teachers—were astounded. They wouldn’t break bread with a tax collector if you paid them and served peacock.”

  “Where—” Jude’s voice sounded strangled—“is Yeshua now?”

  The man looked over his shoulder, murmured something to one of his co-workers, then nodded. “He’s looking for an open place that will hold more people,” he said, turning back to us. “Last time Eli saw him, he and his men were walking toward Gennesaret. If you go there, you’re likely to find him.”

  Jude nodded his thanks and went to retrieve the donkey. After placing Rahel and the boy on the pack saddle, he looked at Joanna, Susanna, me, and Ziv. “Why,” he asked aloud, his hands tightening on the donkey’s halter, “would Yeshua eat and drink with sinners?”

  One of the men on the roof must have overheard the question. “He said the righteous didn’t need a doctor,” he called, his voice ringing out, “but the sick did. He didn’t come to call the righteous, but the sinful.”

  Jude sucked at the inside of his cheek for a moment, then looked down at me. “My father,” he said, lowering his voice so only I could hear, “was a righteous man and passionate for the Law. He never ate with Gentiles or sinners. He did do business with them, but would always purify himself afterward. He was fastidious about avoiding uncleanness whenever possible.”

  I nodded. “My father feels the same.”

  “Then why—” Jude paused and stared past me—“why is Yeshua behaving as though the Law no longer matters? Eating and drinking with sinners? I’m surprised he hasn’t invited a Gentile to travel with him.”

  “All the more reason for us to find him.” I gave him an assuring smile. “You will speak to him and remind him of your father’s example.”

  Jude looked at me then, thought working in his eyes, then he nodded. “Let’s go find him.”

  Together we led the others toward Gennesaret.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tasmin

  After leaving Capernaum, finding Yeshua was easy. Word of the lame man’s healing had spread like a storm of locusts, and a steady stream of Galileans moved along the road that outlined the sea. As we made our inquiries, we asked several travelers why they were going to hear Yeshua. “We heard he is healing the sick on a mountain between Gennesaret and Capernaum,” a man from Chorazin told us. “And we have a little girl who was born blind.”

  The people traveling to Yeshua seemed in remarkably good spirits, and none seemed to share the doubt that haunted me and Jude. We were a dubious minority in our own group, for Joanna and Susanna believed, and Ziv clung desperately to faith for the sake of his granddaughter.

  “For your sake,” I whispered to the boy riding on my back, “I hope Yeshua can do miracles, but I don’t see how he can help you.”

  Once we reached the northern edge of the plain of Gennesaret, we were able to see the assembled crowd. Curiosity seekers had spread out over the hillside, clustering in small groups. Families unfolded their blankets and chose comfortable grassy places while children chased each other or jumped from the rocks jutting from the gentle hill. Except for the occasional shouts and squeals of the children, an unnatural silence prevailed, broken only by the sound of Yeshua’s voice.

  The man was already at work. Jude’s brother stood on a rock halfway up the hill, proclaiming his message in a voice modulated to reach the edge of the crowd. I could barely hear him from where we stood on the road, but the people who sat closer appeared spellbound. Some of the children near Yeshua had even stopped playing and stood as still as statues while he told his stories.

  We approached the gathering with the self-conscious awareness of people who had arrived late to a wedding. Jude hobbled the donkey, then let the animal browse the grass as he led us to an open area farther up the hil
l. We spread our blankets and sat facing Yeshua—Jude, Joanna, Susanna, Ziv, Rahel, and me. I kept the boy on my lap. He had awakened during our walk through the field, and I hoped he would keep quiet so I would be able to hear what everyone else found so fascinating.

  As Yeshua talked about loving one’s enemies, I studied the people on the hillside. Along with family groups from neighboring villages, I spotted clusters of white-robed Pharisees who must have come from Jerusalem. A few in the audience wore the colorful garments and jewels of wealthy merchants; others wore rags and tattered papyrus sandals. I even spotted a couple of Roman women in silky tunics and elaborately styled himations, one accompanied by a pair of Roman soldiers. A politician’s wife, perhaps, or a not-so-subtle spy.

  I looked behind Yeshua, where other men stood and looked over the crowd with a self-important air. Yeshua’s disciples, of course. I looked for Thomas, finally spotting him sitting with the fisherman Simon Peter. While Thomas listened intently, Peter seemed to think it was his role to cheer on his master. Every time Yeshua paused, Peter clapped and shouted approval.

  “Do to others as you would have them do to you,” Yeshua said. “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are doing good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do this. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to take, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners in order to receive back the same.”

  I leaned toward Jude. “Is your brother a moneylender? He seems to talk a lot about loans.”

  Jude snorted. “He has no money and cares little for it.”

  “But love your enemies,” Yeshua said, peering earnestly into the faces of the people nearest him. “And do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Then your reward will be great and you will be sons of Elyon, for He is kind to the ungrateful and evil ones. Be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate to you.”

  I could find no fault in what Yeshua was saying, so I blew out a breath and looked at the men behind him. I counted more than a dozen—at least fifty. Some sat while others stood in groups, their eyes scanning the crowd like guards on alert. When I considered a possible reason for their activity, a chill ran up the ladder of my spine.

  Had Yeshua been threatened? Did they fear an imminent attack?

  Before leaving home I would never have considered the possibility that someone might threaten a simple man from Nazareth, but the fellow we saw in front of Jude’s house had threatened to stone him. We ourselves had been attacked by the lestes without provocation, so evil could rear its head anywhere and threaten anyone. Why should Yeshua be exempt?

  I shifted my position to keep an eye on Thomas and was surprised to spot a group of women working behind the disciples. Joanna had mentioned women who traveled with Yeshua’s group, and I was amazed to discover so many. I recognized Mary, Jude’s mother, who sat apart from the others. She was not focused on the work, but on her eldest son.

  Joanna must have noticed where I was looking, because she leaned toward me and pointed to the women. “There,” she said. “I would offer anything I have to work with them. Mine might be a small effort, yet I would happily give it to serve Yeshua.”

  She tapped Susanna and nodded toward the women, and the widow’s face lit up. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “To be able to serve in practical ways . . .”

  Before I could ask if they were sure about what they wanted to do, Joanna and Susanna stood and began climbing the hill. With a sinking heart, I watched them go. This would be the place where they left us.

  “Well?” Jude crossed his legs and jerked his chin toward the rocky knoll where the disciples stood. “Do we go up there and wait for Yeshua to finish, or do we stay here among the people?”

  I looked at the hundreds of people in front of us, each of whom had come here for an important reason.

  “I think these people would be unhappy if we kept them from Yeshua. Let us wait until he takes a break with his men, then we can go up. I’ll find Thomas while you speak to your brother.”

  Jude sighed and stretched out on the grass. “Good. Until then I will rest.”

  The boy grew restless in my lap, so I let him stand and move around. He walked over to Jude, placed his hands on Jude’s cheeks, and laughed in his quiet way. He stopped for a moment and turned to look at Yeshua, then returned to me, dropped into my lap, and gave me a slobbery kiss. I felt my cheeks burn, then glanced at Jude, who was watching. “He is a good lad,” he said, smiling. “I wish Yeshua could help him.”

  The wind caught the teacher’s voice and brought it closer. “A farmer,” Yeshua was saying, “went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path; it was trampled on, and the birds of the air ate it up. Some fell on rock, and when it came up, the plants withered because they had no moisture. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up with it and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up and yielded a crop, a hundred times more than was sown.”

  I crossed my legs at the ankles and leaned back on my elbows, trying to figure out what the story meant. Was it a riddle?

  Yeshua lifted his hand. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

  I glanced at Jude. “Did you hear the story?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  Jude shrugged. “How can anyone understand the rambling stories of a madman? He speaks of common things—seeds, farmers, and weeds—and people behave as though he is explaining the mysteries of Adonai’s universe. How is that possible when not even the best Torah teachers can understand Adonai’s thoughts? His thoughts are not our thoughts.”

  At that moment one of Yeshua’s followers walked over and said something to the teacher, so I returned my attention to the boy. He was walking through the grass, trailing his fingertips over the wildflowers, smiling in the rare moment of sunshine and security . . .

  My heart swelled with a feeling I did not understand. Inexplicably, I found myself feeling . . . grateful? Yes, grateful for my eighteen days without Thomas. As odd as it seemed, I was thankful my brother left and gave me a reason to go after him. Soon this chapter of my life would end. Thomas and I would return home to do what we had always done and be the people we had always been. But I would never forget the deep feeling of gratitude that rocked my soul in that moment.

  A woman seated across from me saw the boy and smiled. “He’s a handsome lad,” she said, leaning toward me. “He reminds me of my oldest. Is he your first?”

  I opened my mouth, about to say, Would you like to have him? but the words stuck to the roof of my mouth. What was wrong with me? I had taken the boy with every intention of finding a home for him, and there had never been a better time than now. This woman was interested, she had other children, and she would know how to make the boy happy. But for some reason I could not bring myself to speak.

  Before I could force myself to react, Joanna tapped me on the shoulder. “Come with me,” she said, looking at Jude. “Your mother wants to see you. Tasmin, you and Ziv must come, too. Bring the children. The women who travel with Yeshua have prepared a meal, and they want to share it with us.”

  The thought of food made my empty stomach growl, so I gave the inquiring mother a farewell smile, then scooped up the boy and followed Joanna up the hill.

  The women, I saw when we drew closer, were sorting through baskets of flatbread, dried fish, and assorted fruits. I expected Mary to rise and greet Jude with a warm embrace. Instead, she only flashed him a quick smile and returned her attention to Yeshua.

  I frowned. I had no idea what other mothers would do in the same situation, but her lack of concern for Jude seemed disrespectful. Shouldn’t a mother greet all her children with love and affection?

  Joanna handed me a wooden bowl loaded with bread, nuts, and fruit, then gestured to an empty spot on a huge rock. “Sit there and fill your bellies,” she said. “I am going to help t
he women. They still have to feed Yeshua’s disciples.”

  I gave the bowl to Jude, who took it to the rock and shared it with the others. While Ziv, Jude, Rahel, and the boy ate, I stood in an empty space and hesitated. Thomas sat less than twenty paces away, and he had not noticed me. A week ago I would have run to him and blurted out my intention, but now I wasn’t sure what to do. How could I greet him and ask him to come home while Yeshua was teaching? My interruption would not be welcome, and I needed Thomas to be happy when he saw me. I needed him to be homesick for Abba and Cana . . .

  Surrendering to caution, I sat with my friends and nibbled on nuts from the bowl. None of the others spoke, so we could hear Yeshua clearly. He finished a story about a lamp on a hill, and then he sat on his rocky platform and opened his arms in invitation. At once, dozens of people stood and streamed toward him, many supporting friends or family members who could not climb the hill without help.

  I watched, mesmerized, as Yeshua greeted each person with a word and a gentle touch. He would listen to them, then place his hand on a head or shoulder or arm and lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. When he finished, the person with whom he prayed would look up and smile or shout or leap, depending, I supposed, on his nature. Those who had approached with a limp walked away with an even stride; those who had climbed the hill with bent backs left standing straight. People with indiscernible illnesses left with confident smiles, even shouts of joy and praise to Adonai.

  I looked at Jude and wondered how he could calmly eat without wondering about his brother. Had Yeshua truly healed those people or were they mad, as well?

  I threw a pistachio at Jude. Startled, he looked at me. “Is there some problem?”

  “Will you speak to your brother now?” I asked. “This might be a good time—you could get in line with the others and catch him off guard.”

  Jude snorted softly. “I don’t think anyone can surprise Yeshua. But no, this is not a good time. He will not take time for me as long as someone waits to speak to him. How else will he build his following?”